


North

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-14
Updated: 2005-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to sixth year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	North

  
Harry didn't realize he had dozed off until he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He opened his eyes, the dream of Bellatrix Lestrange hissing off like water with fire, and just like that he was standing, his wand out and aimed at Hermione's throat. Magic crackled through the train car, ready to spill.

"Wait!" she gasped, backing away, and from the door he heard Ron cry out, "No -- don't!"

Harry didn't drop his wand immediately, physical reflexes still slowed by sleep, but as soon as he understood what was happening the magic shut off, completely and abruptly. The buzzing madness of raw power blinked out, replaced at once by mortification and horror.

"Hermione!" Harry gaped at her. "Oh, God." He willed his fingers to open. The wand thudded to the floor.

"Bloody hell." Ron stepped into the car and shut the door behind him. He caught the wand before the train's motion sent it rolling beneath the seat.

Harry barely noticed this; he had sunk back onto the seat and was pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. "I just -- I thought she was --"

"Hey." He felt Hermione kneel in front of him. "It's all right," she said softly. "No one's hurt."

"But I almost --"

"Look at me." She circled her hands around his wrists, tugging at him.

He dragged his eyes up to meet hers. They were wide, and too bright, and behind her he could see Ron watching them with an equally bewildered expression, Harry's wand clutched to his chest. Superimposed on both of their faces he saw himself cursing her, unable to stop in time --

"Look, I'm fine," Hermione said. She was still holding his wrists, and she drew them forward so that his hands rested on her shoulders. She felt warm and solid, and her wild hair brushed his knuckles. "You didn't hurt me," she said.

He shook his head and rasped, "But if I had --"

She stopped him with a kiss, tilting her head up toward him from where she knelt. Her lips pressed against his, cool and reassuring, and after a moment he traced his hands up to clasp her face. "But you didn't," she said, the words softened by his mouth.

Ron sat next to Harry. "Here." He thrust Harry's wand forward.

Harry pushed it away. "No, you hold onto it."

"Shut up," Ron said, not unkindly, and dropped the wand on Harry's lap. He rested his right hand on Harry's knee, and touched Hermione's shoulder with his left. "You were dreaming. Same one?"

Swallowing, Harry nodded.

"I shouldn't have just crept up on you," Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.

"No! It was my fault." He shrank back from them, trying to fade into the seat cushions. "I'm just -- I'm so --" His throat clenched suddenly, and he couldn't speak.

"We should've let Neville or someone sit with you during the prefects meeting," Hermione said. "But you just looked so tired. Harry, please." She reached for his hands again. "It wasn't anyone's fault."

"And we're fine." Ron repeated Hermione's words from earlier: "No one's hurt."

"But you could be," Harry blurted. He looked away from them, out through the window where a sheet of gray rain obscured the green hills. "You might be, one day. Because of me."

"Think we'll do all right without the guilt routine, mate." Ron squeezed his knee, then moved his hand higher up Harry's thigh. His extremities were always warmer than Hermione's. The heat of his touch spread into Harry's flesh, contrasting with her cool fingers.

"Ron's right," Hermione said. "Don't go down that road, Harry."

But he kept seeing their faces at that moment, Ron's shocked and horrified, Hermione's frightened -- of _him_ , of what he'd been about to do. He could still feel the crackle of magic beneath his skin, the power inside of him that had been ready to lash out and cause pain no matter who it might hit, and the feeling wasn't dampened by their touch. Not when he knew, after last year, that he couldn't trust his own control.

Hermione crossed his line of vision as she moved to sit on his other side. He felt them both pressed up against his sides, their bodies warm and unyielding. Hermione waved her wand at the train car door -- she was getting better at magic without words -- and the windows fogged over, hiding them from anyone in the corridor.

"Better lock it, too," he heard Ron say, and shivered when he felt Ron's hand move even higher.

"Don't shut us out again, Harry, please," Hermione said. How many times had he heard his name on her lips in just such a way, pleading with him to do something, share something? Every time he obliged he was only drawing her closer, _them_ closer. And the more she and Ron entangled themselves with Harry the more likely it was that they'd suffer for it, one way or another.

"Leave off," Harry said, his voice harsh. He tried to stand, but Ron gripped his shoulders. His strength made him rougher than Hermione, and he easily turned Harry away from the window into a kiss.

Ron hadn't had time to shave that morning -- they had all been running late, rushing out of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry shuddering with relief when the door closed behind them -- and his stubble scraped Harry's lips and chin, sparking his nerves, pulling him back inside his skin and away from his thoughts.

"Stop thinking about it," Ron murmured, and kissed him again before Harry could protest.

Their hands worked at his clothes, removing his glasses, unfastening just enough to expose more parts of his body to their caresses. His collarbone to Hermione's tongue, the inner dip of his hipbone to Ron's long fingers. "Can't --" Harry said, his breath catching short. "You --"

"Stop thinking about it," Hermione repeated, hot and moist against his throat.

Despite himself he responded. They were still so new at this, and every sort of touch retained an illicit thrill: Ron's strong hands sliding under his shirt, Hermione's knowledgeable strokes, a kiss from one and then the other in quick succession, so that he could taste the difference between them. Just the _proximity_ of them, the fact that they were both _here_ , doing this, wanting him. It was so much to take in that it filled all available headspace, and eventually he succumbed and began to touch them back.

"Mmm, yes," Hermione sighed. She straddled his lap and reached up to where he had cupped the firm sweet weight of her breasts, molding his hands and guiding his thumbs to circle her nipples through her shirt.

Harry turned his head and thrust his tongue into Ron's mouth, licked at his ear when Ron bent to kiss his throat, moaned at the hot scrape of Ron's stubble there, contrasting with his lips and tongue. He arched to give Ron better access, and Hermione made an "mmm" noise again as he shifted beneath her.

Harry fumbled at the opening to Ron's trousers, his fingers brushing hardness. Ron made a sound like a moan, and then -- "Here," he said, and guided Harry in to touch firm hot flesh.

Harry looked down and saw Ron's other hand disappearing beneath the hem of Hermione's skirt, and then they were all touching each other somehow, Ron pushing her knickers aside so that he could caress her as she sank her tight wet heat down onto Harry, Ron's hips bucking up as Harry gripped his erection and began to stroke.

He looked at them both, and they were both looking back at him, their eyes clouded with desire and love and whatever it was that kept them here, that made them return to him year after year. Sometimes he did think he must be the most unfortunate fortunate boy who lived, and lately he couldn't help but wonder if, at some point in his shadowy future, they would make him feel the former more than the latter.

"Stop, Harry," Hermione said, reading him as well as she ever had, and Ron said again, "Stop thinking about it."

Their faces blurred -- he was appalled to realize that he was crying.

"I can't," he said. He lifted his hands from them and tried to push them away. "You only make it worse, can't you _see_ \--"

He felt Hermione's cool lips on his face, and Ron's at his temple, right near the corner of his eye. His tears spilled over and met their kisses, burning on the way down. He tilted his head to touch their mouths with his own, both at once, the salty wetness on their lips transferred back to him.

"I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry," he forced out, past the tightness of his throat. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry..."

"Shhh," someone said. Hermione rose and knelt on the seat cushions, turning toward him, and she and Ron wrapped their arms around Harry. They held him, clothing askew and bodies exposed, and he shut his eyes to their nakedness and clutched them tight.

The train rocked along the tracks beneath, carrying them north, toward the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism welcome.


End file.
